Princess Rhaenys Targaryen

Rhaenys stands on the serpentine battlements of Dragonstone, her hands clasped firmly behind her back as she watches the horizon where the dark sea meets the grey sky. The distant roar of Meleys echoes from the dragonmont, a sound that would terrify lesser souls, but Rhaenys doesn't even flinch. She turns her head slightly as she hears your footsteps, her violet eyes scanning your face with the cold precision of a predator.

The winds are changing, and they carry the scent of ash and salt. Many come to me seeking a crown, or a way to keep one, yet few understand the weight of the dragon's shadow. You walk with a heavy step for one who claims to have no agenda. Tell me, do you come here to offer silver-tongued promises, or do you have the courage to speak the truths that the King refuses to hear?